


sacred nights

by Kazura



Category: Disgaea (Games)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Long-Distance Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 01:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16107941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazura/pseuds/Kazura
Summary: A sense of dread urges Flonne to come home.





	sacred nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [overlordbunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/overlordbunny/gifts).



The Netherworld welcomes her with open arms. A step through the gate is all it takes, and the magic in the air starts singing cheerfully. Welcome home, it seems to say, and she would be smiling with affection by now, if it weren’t for the dread twisting her inside, the very reason why she even left Celestia to her angels alone for the evening.

She calls for Meaver, dear Meaver, who responds to her quickly. Below her feet, a pentacle forms, and she is whisked away. The next moment she opens her eyes, the familiar sight of the Overlord’s Castle’s interior is spread out before her, and she finds herself in a brief yet warm embrace.

“Flonne,” Meaver says, her eyes wide, and her usual monotonous tone tinged with a hint of surprise.

She offers the Gatekeeper a smile and a gentle squeeze. “Good evening, Meaver,” she says, affecting a calm air, in the way she’s mastered for her duties as the Seraph. “It’s very nice to see you again. I’m sorry for dropping by without any warning. Oh, and it’s so very late, too.”

Taking a step back, Meaver shakes her head, sending her large curls dancing in the air. “Not at all. Will you be staying the night? His Majesty would be pleased.”

The twisting worsens, just a tick. 

“Yes,” she says, unable to keep her voice from cracking. “How is Laharl?”

Meaver frowns, tilts her head. Finally, she says, carefully, “He’s been…acting normally, as far as I could tell, but…Florence disagrees. It might be best if you saw him yourself. Just to make sure.”

Her heart sinks. She inhales sharply. That’s a plea, if she’s heard any from Meaver. “All right,” she says. “I will. Thank you. Have a good night, Meaver.”

The demons she runs into on her way towards Laharl’s quarters are few and far in between. Most of the castle’s residents have already retired for the night, she’s sure, but she does ensure that she only has the brightest of smiles for those who are still away. She greets them, briefly asks how they’ve been, before apologizing profusely and excusing herself, leaving promises of catching up with them fully the following morning. 

As much as she loves them, someone needs her at that moment. She’s certain of it. And so it’s with a flurry of her feathers and robes that she hurries for Laharl’s door. She knocks, rather politely at first. But there’s no answer, and so she knocks again, a little more frantically this time.

“Laharl?” she calls.

Silence. And then, “Flonne?”

No matter how faint it has been, she takes it as permission, and she swings the door open.

The room, as she often found it to be at such hours, is dimly lit. Candlelight swayed and flickered in the stale air. On the far side, light filtered through the windows. And, in the middle of the room, past a sea of clutter, sits Laharl.

“Flonne.” His voice is painfully brittle. He’s in the middle of standing up, but completely stops when their eyes meet.

Pursing her lips, she shuts the door behind her before maneuvering through his belongings, careful not to step on anything valuable.

He straightens himself. “Flonne,” he says again, breathless, disbelieving.

This time, she’s made it to his side. In the near dark, she reaches for his hands, intertwining her fingers with his, and she smiles. “I’m here,” she says. “I’m here.”

He’s searching her eyes, as if looking for any indication that she’s a hallucination. Finding none, he squeezes her hands, just briefly, before surging forward and burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Hey,” he says, letting go of her hands to wrap his arms around her. “You’re really here?”

“Mmhm!”

He nuzzles against her. “What did your angels say about that?”

“They’re fine with it,” she says softly, and it’s no lie. If anything, her Archangels seemed rather relieved, when she announced that she’ll be taking a break for the rest of the evening, and perhaps for the next morning as well. “I can stay until tomorrow.”

He raises his head and blinks at her. “You’ll stay the night?”

“Mmhm!” When he makes no response, just choosing to lower his head against her shoulder again, she asks, “What’s wrong, Laharl? If there’s something I can do, please tell me.”

He freezes against her, briefly, before relaxing again. He moves, presses her closer to him, his fingers brushing against the base of her wings. “Just…been wanting to see you,” he finally says, his voice quiet in the already silent room. “Had a…had a thought. Don’t worry about it.”

But she does. And he knows as much.

His scarf is warm against her cheek. “Do you want to sleep in my room?” she asks. It should be clean. Sicily promised it would always be looked after. It would be better, rather than letting him stay by his lonesome in this dark, dark room.

Laharl laughs. It’s a small sound. Frayed around the edges. Why he thought she wouldn’t worry about him when he’s in such a state is utterly beyond her. “Your room?”

“I don’t think we’ll fit in your bed.” He’s a lot taller now, and she’s grown a few inches herself. Maybe she can convince him to get a new bed in the morning. One where she can sleep in, too, on her future visits.

“You sure?” 

“Mmhm. Maybe we can talk there, too?”

He exhales. Slowly, deliberately. “Tomorrow.” Even when they’re pressed so close against each other, his voice is barely audible.

She purses her lips, then nods. The desire to find out about what gnaws at his heart, to chase it away and soothe his soul at that very moment, burns strongly inside her, but if it’s what he wishes, if it’s what he needs, then she’ll bow her head gracefully.

Pulling away, she already aches for his warmth again, but it’s only a short distance to her own room. So she takes his hand and gives him a smile.

Despite the darkness under his eyes, the sluggishness in his movements, he returns the smile, and she clings to it.

He’ll be all right. She’ll do everything she can to make it so.

**Author's Note:**

> A little something for a friend. Happy birthday, Bunny!
> 
> I post fic updates (and art) over [here at Twitter](https://twitter.com/findingarcadia). For more ways to find me, [here's my Carrd](https://artwaltzed.carrd.co/).


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